


At Lion's Rest

by Anonymous



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Anduin Fucks Varian's Statue, Angst, Dildos, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Outdoor Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Sad with a Happy Ending, Wrynncest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28273308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: As Winter Veil grows near, Anduin takes a trip to his father's memorial, hoping that some release will do him good.
Relationships: Anduin Wrynn/Varian Wrynn, Genn Greymane & Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12
Collections: Anonymous





	At Lion's Rest

**Author's Note:**

> this began as a fucking crack idea like lol wouldn't it be funny if anduin stuck a dildo to his dad's tomb hahaha oh no wait i'm writing it, oh no it's fucking sad
> 
> ty to betas <3
> 
> CW: INCEST, MENTIONS OF PARENT/CHILD SEXUAL ACTIVITY, EMOTIONAL
> 
> please just click the off if you don't like it, ta.

Lion's Rest jutted out into the ocean, built atop the cliffs on the edge of Stormwind's Coast. It was a sheer drop to the rocks below from the edge, but on a clear day, one could gaze out at the water and see for miles. It was Anduin’s favourite place in the city, beautiful and a calming respite when he needed it. He could sit and think for hours, undisturbed, and did so often, sat with his back against the memorial’s podium. 

Of course, it was no private place when the weather was mild, the memorial garden being a popular meeting place for young couples, and the monument was somewhere the people could come to pay respect to their fallen monarch. Anduin was loath to deny anyone access to such a tranquil space, but he was selfish, and relished any time he could spend alone there. On the days he needed it, he would ask the guards to cordon off the area, so that he might spend an hour or two conversing with the memory of his late father.

During the winter months, when the weather turned, the memorial gardens were often quiet, for which Anduin was glad. Winds carried in off the sea, and the crash of waves against the rocks beneath made the open space unpleasant to linger in for long. When the nights drew in, and the temperature dropped, the gardens were all but abandoned.

It was one of these nights on which Anduin would enact his plan, slipping out past the guards in the darkness of the early hours, bundled up in his disguise of a commoner's cloak, something he had slipped into his pack from a visit to the barracks many months before. It didn't do much to keep him warm, but it was long, shapeless and, most importantly, the large hood covered his face and recognisable golden hair.

He hadn’t bothered with his usual full disguise; the substance he used to darken his hair smelled unpleasant, and was a chore to remove afterwards. Besides, on this night especially, he wanted,  _ needed _ , to be entirely himself.

Once the fire in the hearth had burned down to little more than glowing embers, leaving the chambers in shadow, Anduin unlatched the window of his bedroom and pushed it open slowly, testing the hinges, lest it creak too loudly and alert the guards stationed outside the door to the King’s escape efforts.

The drop from the window was daunting, but Anduin had done this a fair few times in the past, and knew that there were nooks in the stone wall he could use as footholds to safely scale down the wall, before dropping to the tiled roof below. From there, it was a simple matter of creeping across to the castellations, slipping down onto the battlements, and sneaking his way down the wooden staircase that took him out to ground level between the Dwarven District and Old Town.

Under the cover of darkness, with his path lit only by pale moonlight, he made his way through the empty streets of the Dwarven District, knowing that it was the safer of the two routes towards the coast, with more places to hide should he need them. He kept to the shadows, dipping into alleyways if he caught sight of the patrolling guards. He knew they would be unlikely to stop and question him, and would probably think he was just a beggar, especially with the ratty old cloak pulled over his head, but he remained out of sight regardless, until he had crossed the bridge over the canal from the Dwarven District to Cathedral Square.

The Square was much more open plan, and Anduin made sure to hurry. He kept his eyes forwards, resolutely not turning his head to look at the Cathedral, that loomed over him like a manifestation of shame at what he was about to do. He thought not even a prayer to the Light would be enough to cleanse the imminent sin from his soul, so he squared his shoulders, ignored it, and carried on. 

He ducked between two merchant stores, out of view of the Cathedral of Light, and walked the rest of the way by following the curved bank of the canal around the edge of the Square. Lit by the silver glow of the moon, Lion’s Rest seemed to rise up before him, like a beacon of light against the dark, tumultuous backdrop of the stormy ocean. Anduin paused, his pulse beginning to quicken. He took a moment to stand, simply look at the memorial; the circular garden was pristine, it’s hedgerows and flowerbeds tended with care so they could survive the harsher weather of the season. The perimeter was edged with a fall of water, and the white noise of the deluge flooded Anduin’s sense, drowning out the sound of blood pounding in his ears, filling his mind so that his thoughts might quieten.

The lamps that lit the path to the tomb glowed dimly, casting weak orange light onto the stone floor. The guards that usually stood beneath them, watching over the area, were missing. With the sharp chill of the wind that Anduin felt pierce the thin wool of his cloak, he didn’t blame them at all for shirking their duties early, especially as Winter Veil drew closer. He made a note to inform the Stormwind General of the missing guard but, for tonight, he was glad not to have to mind control any of them away.

He made his way through the gardens, around the fountain, and down the path that led to his father’s final resting place. Or, rather, where he would have rested, had his body ever been recovered from the Broken Shore. It still tore Anduin apart that Varian’s remains had never been returned to him, that he had never gotten to say ‘ _ goodbye’ _ . All he had left of his father now was his compass, his weapon, and his title:  _ King. _

The word still felt thick and heavy on his tongue, unfamiliar in his mouth when he attached it to his own name.  _ King Anduin _ . It sounded... weak, a pale imitation, and mocking of his father’s legacy.  _ King Varian Wrynn _ , however, had held power whenever it was uttered, but now doomed never to fall from the people’s lips again.

With a quiet sigh, Anduin patted the satchel he had slung over his shoulder, checking and double checking that the items he had stowed away in it earlier were still contained within. Satisfied upon feeling the solid contents beneath his palms, he slowly stepped towards his father’s grave.

He tread along the blue and gold carpet, stepping slowly, almost rhythmically, like a bride walking the aisle on her wedding day, until he reached the foot of the monument. Resting a single hand upon the cool marble, he trailed his fingers along the stone and gilt, walked around the base, and ascended the marble steps until he was face to face with the carved stone image of his father.

Baros Alexston, the city architect, and an ex-member of the fallen Stonemasons Guild, had been commissioned to carve the monument, and he had caught Varian’s likeness well; every crease and fold and wrinkle was exactly how Anduin had remembered them looking in flesh. It sent an ache through Anduin’s heart, that he would never gaze upon his father’s face again, except the one cast in cold, white stone.

Anduin let out a shuddering sigh, and tugged off his thin leather gloves, to run his fingertips over the peaks and valleys of the marble face, tracing the line from brow to chin by way of the bridge of the nose. He brushed the backs of his fingers over the cheekbones, and cupped the jaw in his palm, bending to place his lips against the forehead. 

The marble was cold and unyielding, and Anduin missed the warmth of Varian’s breath, that he would huff out over Anduin’s cheek as he pressed kisses to every inch of his father’s face. He missed the soft scrape of stubble against his palms, and against his chin, where Varian would kiss him back so sweetly, as he rocked them together to completion in his bed.

Anduin would never know that touch again. He would never feel the sensation of Varian’s strong arms around him again. And he hated it. Hated every last demon that the Burning Legion spewed forth, and hated  _ himself _ that he had not been there to stop it. His rage would sometimes fill him up to the brim, and bubble over in a dangerous flash of violet energy. It would spark across his skin, down his arm into his fingertips, where it would crackle and spit, until he realised what he was doing and prayed, would let the Light run through him to calm his troubled mind.

He was calm now, his lips numb from the cold press of stone, and he stepped back, sliding the satchel from his shoulder. The items inside hit the ground with a soft  _ thunk, _ and Anduin set about preparing for his act of contrition. He unbuckled and removed the cloak from his shoulders, freeing his long, golden hair from the confines of the hood. He had worn it loose, and it whipped about in the breeze coming in off the ocean.

He dropped the cloak to the ground as he crouched to reach into the satchel, retrieving the items he would need to complete his personal ritual. He set them gently and carefully on the edge of the memorial by Varian’s marble shoulder, then gripped the statue’s hands. With a tug and a twist, the false Shalamayne slid from the stone fingers with ease, and Anduin thanked his past self for requesting that the sword be removable, as he bent to carefully place the carved-stone weapon on the ground, by the base of the tomb.

With the Shalamayne out of the way, Anduin hoisted himself up onto the plinth, shuffling on his knees until he sat astride the marble figure’s knees. His thighs were spread wide to accommodate the width of the statue, but the strain felt familiar, and he welcomed it, despite the twinge from the old injury in his leg that told him he should take care.

He ignored the pain and sat for a moment, his hand resting on his thighs, fingers gripping the soft woollen fabric of his breeches as he contemplated his following actions. It was some time before he felt he could reach out for the items he had pulled from his satchel without his hand trembling. The small, glass vial of oil, he placed by his knee for later. The other item, he placed before him, like an offering, the base of it resting against the marble carved into the shape of the sash Varian’s had worn over his hips. With a twist of his wrists, the item locked into place, held to the stone by a firm suction enchantment. Anduin felt his pulse quicken as he reached out to wrap his fingers around the firm length of oak. 

The item had been somewhat tricky to obtain, but Anduin had convinced his advisors that an urgent trip to Gnomeregan was essential, ‘ _ for a trade deal _ ’ he had said. Shaw had narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but said nothing, and Genn had just nodded in acknowledgement, and began to make preparations for travel. When they had arrived, with the bustling streets as cover, Anduin had managed to escape from their view, disguise himself with his darkened hair, and slip into the back streets, where he knew of an alley that led down into the depths of a red light district.

The store he was looking for contained all manner of devices, some he’d heard of in passing, never seen the likes of before. The gnome behind the counter has regarded him with unease, until Anduin had pulled a large coin purse from his pocket, dropping it on the counter with a heavy thud, and a click of coins.

Once he was sure the gnome was up for the job, he had then handed over the materials, the list of measurements, detailed sketches and notes he had made, then returned to Stormwind to wait.

A week or so later, he received his commission. 

The fake cock had been meticulously carved, exact to Anduin's specifications, from the thick, wooden handle of Varian's training sword, so that he might yet still have something of Varian’s touch inside him. The length and girth were something Anduin had been insistent on getting right, along with the placement of the veins that ran down the length.

It stood proud now, the dark wood stark against white marble, resting at the place where Varian’s own cock would have sat, had he been the one trapped beneath Anduin’s thighs, and not the pale imitation in rock. But it was the best he could do, so he bent forwards, steadied himself with his palms flat on the statue's torso, and took the tip of the wooden toy into his mouth. It was cold on his tongue, but warmer than the stone had been on his lips, and the girth stretched his mouth uncomfortably wide, but he persisted and swallowed, and sunk down with his mouth until the head of it hit the back of his throat.

He stayed that way for a while, breathing through his nose, his hair falling around his face in a shimmering golden curtain, until his jaw ached and spit began to drip from his lips. He pulled back and suckled at the head, letting his tongue flatten against the underside. With his eyes closed, he could almost hear Varian’s voice, could almost feel the hand in his hair, guiding him with soft words and gentle touches, “ _ that’s it, now tongue the slit. Yes, just like that, such a good boy for your father… _ ”

The memory had the pressure in the front of his breeches building fast, his cock straining uncomfortably at the laces. He fumbled one-handedly to untie them, and shove them down just far enough so he could grasp his length, gripping it tightly as he continued to suck on the toy, stroking himself in time with the rhythm of his mouth.

_ Gods _ , he was close already from just the mere thought of his father’s touch, and had to squeeze the base of his cock, and pull his mouth off the toy to take a few steadying breaths, before continuing. A shaky hand reached out to pick up the vial of oil, uncork it, and pour the contents out onto his fingers. The other hand pushed and tugged at his breeches, pulling them down over his ass. The cool air was unpleasant on his exposed hole, but with a soft flare of Light, Anduin warmed the oil on his fingers and slowly pressed a digit inside the tight ring of muscle.

He moaned as he breached himself, spreading his thighs as wide as he could, with the waistband of his breeches restraining them. His own finger’s weren’t nearly as thick or long as Varian’s had been, and it took two of his own digits for him to start to feel the familiar stretch.

A third felt closer to what he remembered, though three fingers still didn’t feel like enough preparation. But, his arm was starting to ache, and his cock was leaking pre-cum, steadily dripping from the tip and down into the gap between the marble thighs.

_ It would have to be enough _ , Anduin thought to himself, shuffling forward on his knees and awkwardly lifting himself up and over the toy, so that it was behind him. From this angle, he could place his hands on the statue’s shoulders, and look down at the face of his father, elegantly carved into a peaceful and permanent slumber.

He leant forwards, pressed a gentle kiss to the marble lips, legs trembling with the strain of being spread even wider over the statue’s hips. He let the kiss linger, trying his damnedest to push every emotion he felt about his father’s loss into that single press of lips. He wanted to fool himself into thinking that, if he tried hard enough, if he let the Light flow through him and into the monument…that Varian’s spirit, wherever it was in the universe, would hear the cacophonous and melancholy cry of his own, yearning forever more to be reunited once again with the soul it had splintered from.

The thought of reunion sent a wracking shiver of anticipation through his body, and the tilt of his hips caused the tip of his cock to drag over the cold stone, which jolted him from his musings and back to the present. It was with a renewed resolve that he reached a hand behind him, to grip the base of the wooden cock and line up his hole with the tip.

With a deep inhale, he bore himself down, exhaling forcefully as his rim stretched open over the head of the wooden cock. At first, he didn’t think it would fit, and cursed himself for not preparing more. But he took a few more breaths, tried to relax himself, and let the Light shimmer around him to ease the discomfort. He didn’t erase the pain completely, there had always been a twinge of burning discomfort on the edges of pleasure when he had taken Varian’s cock, something Anduin used to ground himself in the moment, and not let his mind wander too far from the man who loved him enough to fill Anduin’s heart, soul and body with his being.

It didn’t help as much as Anduin had hoped. Varian had been a well endowed man, and the toy was certainly less forgiving than flesh and blood. A little frustrated, Anduin raised himself up, poured out more oil from the vial directly onto the tip of the toy, and bore down again firmly, sitting up straighter to align his channel. This time, the head slid inside smoothly, and Anduin cried out softly as he was impaled. With the tip inside, it was much easier to slide himself down, even if he had to stop occasionally, to shift his hips and coax the toy further inward.

Inch by inch, it disappeared into his hole, and eventually Anduin’s ass was pressed flush to the marble of Varian’s hips. He welcomed the cool touch of stone on his skin, which was hot and flushed with arousal. His breath came in short, shallow pants, as the toy cock’s head pressed firm against his prostate on the first shallow roll of his hips.

It was enough just to continue that way, rocking himself gently, to keep the pressure inside him firm and constant. He never could last long around his father, who knew how to make Anduin squirm and moan beneath him.

‘ _ You’re part of me, _ ’ he would say, his hands working magic with large, warm palms mapping the planes of Anduin’s body, fingertips pinching and rubbing at Anduin’s nipples until he came. ‘ _ I know exactly which buttons to press to make you scream… _ ’

The memory made Anduin’s cock throb, a long strand of clear liquid dripping from his tip, and he hastily shoved a hand beneath his shirt to skim over a nipple, which was pebble hard and aching. He removed his hand and sucked two fingers into his mouth, lathering them with spit, so that when he slid his hand back beneath his tunic, he could pretend that it was Varian’s wet lips that pinched at the blushed nub of flesh, and not his own digits.

It was that touch, with his head thrown back in ecstasy, that almost brought him over the edge. He quickly dropped his hand before he lost himself completely, wanting to prolong the moment at the edge of completion for as long as possible, though his body seemed to move of its own accord to chase the pleasure, rising and falling on the toy in a fervent rhythm. His hole slid along the length of the wooden cock, the head slamming into his prostate over and over, with every bounce he took on the statue’s lap.

He gripped his father’s marble hand in one of his own, and with the other, stroked his cock with fast jerks, staring down at the face of the man he loved. Soon, his hips beginning to roll erratically, the rhythm faltering until, with one final firm thrust downward, Anduin came. With a strangled, heart-wrenching cry, he spilled his seed, coating his hand, and the statue, with ribbons of cum.

In the daylight, he might look back and laugh at the absurdity of it all, of riding a toy cock on top of a marble carving of his father’s likeness. But in that moment, he could do little to stop the tears that slid unbidden from his eyes and down his cheeks, dripping and mixing with the splashes of cum, leaving glistening trails of wet on the pale stone of Varian’s unmoving face. He collapsed forward, gripping the marble monument the best he could in a tight embrace. As his body wracked with silent sobs, the exhaustion of emotional and physical release crept over him, and seeped into his bones. It wasn't long before he was asleep, his cheek pressed over where Varian's heart would have beat had his father lay, alive, beneath him. 

\-----

Somewhere distant, a voice called his name, and the feeling of weightlessness carried him away.

\-----

Anduin awoke in the early hours of the morning, tucked under the blankets of his bed, a large, fur covered arm wrapped around his torso. He shifted beneath the arm and rolled over to face the worgen, who was awake, and regarding him with a soft look. “Genn,” Anduin murmured sleepily, crowding up against the vast chest that radiated a much needed warmth in the otherwise chilly room. He shivered against the worgen, his hands and feet felt stiff with cold, but burying them into Genn's thick fur brought some of the feeling back.

The arm around him tightened, “You had me worried,” Genn said softly, his deep voice rumbled in his chest, “when I awoke and your scent was missing… I thought something terrible had happened.”

Anduin chuckled and shook his head, “No, I just... needed to be with him, that’s all.” Anduin’s smile faltered as his thoughts turned once more to his father’s absence, “It gets harder, each winter he’s gone.” He added, curling his fingers around a tuft the longer fur around Genn’s neck, like a child seeking comfort from a plush toy.

“I know,” Genn replied, burying his snout into Anduin’s hair, “I miss him too. I’m just glad I found you before the guards did. You were ice cold Anduin, you could have died.” Genn’s tone was chastising, but not angry, and he pulled Anduin closer to him, so that the heat of his body would help to thaw out Anduin's own.

Anduin flushed, and buried his face into the fur of Genn’s chest, the embarrassment of having passed out in such a way flushed his cheeks with a bright pink hue.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, the words muffled by Genn’s fur.

However, as he recalled exactly how his midnight tryst had ended, he yelped and shot upright, eyes widened in panic as he frantically searched about the room for his satchel, “Wait! Shit, I left the…did you…where?”

Genn hushed him with a brush of soft pads to his jaw, “Shh, Anduin, Lion’s Rest is as pristine as ever. I took care of it.”

Relieved, Anduin let out a breath and relaxed back into Genn’s embrace, “Thank the Light, that would have taken some explaining away...”

Genn was silent for a long moment. Anduin could almost hear the cogs in his mind whirr and tick as he pondered his next words. “What is it?” Anduin asked, leaning away a little to catch Genn’s gaze. When Genn finally met his eyes, his own held an intensity that Anduin almost couldn’t bear.

“He left you in my care, Anduin,” Genn spoke slowly, like he was trying to delay the words. Anduin knew what was coming, but let Genn continue uninterrupted, “Perhaps… the next time you feel the need to… perhaps you might come to  _ me  _ first, before risking freezing to death?”

Anduin looked up at him, his heart skipping several beats in his ribcage. “Perhaps I might,” he replied with a smile, pressing his lips to the very corner of Genn’s muzzle, before curling into the worgen’s warmth. In his mind’s eye, he recalled the dream he had awoken from; Varian, surrounded by a blaze of bright light, had gifted him a large, grey wolf. 

It was the haze between wakefulness and sleep, that Anduin then knew. His father had never truly left him alone. With his heart filled with the knowledge, and more at peace than he had been for a while, he curled himself around Genn, who gripped back just as tight, and drifted once more to slumber.


End file.
